To Slash or Not to Slash 2: To Wed or Not to Wed
by UnicornGiggles
Summary: Rimmer/Lister, established. Sequel. AU. John is getting married, which means Rimmer and Lister have to once more venture forth to the horror that is Rimmer's Family.
1. Chapter 1

_I apologise for not updating my other fics. Life is quite depressing and the last thing I want to do is work on depressing fics. So I've decided to bite the bullet and bring out the beginning of the 'To Slash or not to Slash' sequel. I'm not 100 percent on where I'm going with it. This is mostly to clear my head and bring back the fun I used to have whilst writing. I only hope that you enjoy my feeble efforts and that I don't suffer from the inevitable 'crap sequel' syndrome that seems to plunder Hollywood these days. So with baited breath I give you the first two chapters of 'To Wed or Not to Wed'_

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**Chapter One**

A card is nowhere near as grown-up as a letter, but a card was what Lister had received that morning and he held it out in front of him like a kryptonite turd. He didn't recognise the writing on the envelope, but he just knew who had sent it. There was only one person who could possibly have anything to say to him.

"Mother?" said Rimmer when he was presented with the card. "Yes, it's her handwriting. Do you know what it is?"

"Bit thin for a landmine."

"Dave, she's not going to send you a landmine. Do you have any idea how much that would cost by rocket-mail? And besides, she sent me one as well," said Rimmer waving a similar card as he nestled into his favourite chair in their pokey little Fiji chalet. It was cramped, it was un-themed, but it was home. "It's a wedding invitation," Rimmer exclaimed as he opened the envelope, his eyes widening. "John's settling down at last."

"A wedding? I love weddings!"

"Calm down, Captain Sparrow. Why did she send two invites when we live together?"

Lister grinned at him as he tore into his own invitation greedily, "You have to ask? She just doesn't want to acknowledge us as a couple. Oh, here we go…

_Dear Son-Stealer,_

_This is just a formality as I am sure Rimmer will bring you anyway. Thank you for ruining his career as a Rear Admiral Lieutenant General in the Space Corps._

_Yours regretfully,_

_Mrs. Rimmer._

…She's got daggers for me, eh?"

"I don't blame her."

"She loved me last year!"

"She loved polka-dotted wallpaper last year. Anyway, I'm going. That means you're going too," Rimmer said in his 'don't mess with me voice', which normally encouraged Lister to mess with him.

Lister sighed instead and scratched the back of his head miserably. "Maybe… maybe I could make amends. Go there and show your mum how good Fiji is for you. How good I am for you."

"Oh Dave," Rimmer smiled and kissed his forehead gently. "You _are_ good for me. However my mother holds onto a grudge like a politician holds onto a lie."

Lister was hardly comforted.

***

The morning of the day before the wedding was hectic. It was three weeks since the invitations had arrived and naturally Lister had already forgotten that there was a wedding to begin with. So when Rimmer had reminded him the night before as they post-intercourse spooned there had been… well, a small upset. And the bad mood continued through to the next day.

"Lister, where are my galoshes?"

"I didn't know you wore galoshes. I thought you had perfect vision."

"Lister; that joke wasn't funny last week and it sure as hell isn't funny right now. Where are my galoshes? I packed everything last night. I laid out all my clothes on the armchair. My galoshes were right next to the arm."

Rimmer stomped about and checked everywhere he could think of – the kitchen, the living room, the bedroom – rather conveniently they were all the same room. Lister emerged from the only other room in the hut, swabbing his ear canal lazily with Rimmer's hand-towel and tugging a piece of dental floss from between his teeth.

"Lister…"

"Hm?"

"Your feet."

"What?"

"YOU'RE WEARING MY GALOSHES!"

"Oooohhhh, your wellies. Why didn't you say so?"

Rimmer pulled the floss from Lister's mouth, delighted at the pained yelp that followed. "Far be it from me to point out that Wellington boots and galoshes are two entirely different clothes items, but need I remind you that thanks to your inept time-keeping we are in great danger of missing the launch of our shuttle."

"…And the shorter version of that is?"

"We're going to be late. Get a move on."

Thirty-seven minutes and twelve outbursts of rage later and they were on the shuttle headed to Io. Rimmer's leg jiggled nervously for the entire journey, not soothed by Lister's friendly humming of various Rastabilly Skank tunes.

John was getting married. Rimmer couldn't believe it. John had the air of a perpetual playboy. He was the sort of chap that you thought would die at eighty-seven, making love to a seventeen-year-old Midan bride. Well, that end was still probable. But if what he'd heard from Howard was true, then John was in love with this current woman. Disgustingly so.

"We're here." Lister's tone was almost ominous as the shuttle pulled abruptly into port.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter Two**

Lister always found travel on the non-atmospheric astral bodies fascinating. You couldn't go anywhere without a constant fear of something breaking and of you being sucked out into space. On Earth, gravity was fairly reliable. Comforting.

Here though, it was death-defying simply travelling from one house to another and Lister gripped the seats of the shuttle-tram until he was white-knuckled and he stared through the glass at the barren land outside. Just metal and glass stood between him and space. Luckily for him, the journey from the spaceport to Rimmer's house was too brief for his claustrophobia to set in.

***

The house was just how Lister remembered it. The glass dome sparkled. The tall plants glistened a healthy green as they swayed in the synthetic breeze. The door slammed in their face as soon as Mrs. Rimmer caught sight of Lister.

It had all begun rather well. Rimmer left Lister to drag all their suitcases up the path, while he went on ahead to wean his mother onto the notion of letting Lister stay. Suffice it to say, they had misjudged how good her eyesight was. She spotted him at the gate, immediately turned on her heel and said something unpleasant that Rimmer wasn't prepared to repeat for Lister no matter how many times he asked.

"Mother!" Rimmer whined pathetically, rapping at the door. "It's cold outside."

"There's no kind of atmosphere…" Lister sung gaily.

Rimmer glared at him and rapped on the door frantically. "Mother! You could at least turn the sun up."

"Arnie, I need to go take care of something."

"Sure, Dave, fine, go ahead- MOTHER!!!" Rimmer wailed, almost scratching the paintwork clean off of the wood with his continuous knocking.

Lister shrugged and left Rimmer to beg on the porch. He half-jogged back to the taxi-shuttle. "Sorry to keep you, mate."

The driver nodded, handing Lister a large box. "Why didn't you want this with all the other luggage?"

"It's very delicate and I don't want anyone to know I've got it."

"Oh. A bomb?"

"What?" said Lister, almost dropping the box. "No no, it's a cat. Frankenstein. Rimmer would kill me if he knew I brought her." Lister paid the driver, and tucked the box under his chin, waddling quickly to a tree. "Okay Frankie, there you go. Grass! You've never seen that before."

Frankenstein sniffed the blades curiously and walked around the base of the tree. Frankenstein had moved around a lot in her short life, and yet she seemed to take to new places surprisingly easily. Lister was always amazed at how adaptable she was in any situation she was placed into.

"DAVE!"

Lister jumped a mile. Frankenstein, sensing that she wasn't meant to be there, scuttled up the tree. Lister turned around, only to be pleasantly surprised by who he saw.

"John? What are you doing here? Shouldn't you be getting ready for your wedding?"

"It's not until tomorrow afternoon. No point in being at home with Cassandra running around like a blue-arsed fly. I've come here to relax."

"You've come _here_ to relax?"

John grinned, nodding towards the house, "She's not letting you in I take it."

"Something like that…"

John sighed, motioned for Lister to follow him, and they traipsed up to the house together.

"Wh-John?" Rimmer babbled as his brother sidled up to the step beside him. John tapped gently on the window and waited at the door patiently. After a few moments of waiting, he finally peeked through the mail slot and called, "Mother, it's me, Jonathan."

"Johnny, dear! Oh… I didn't realise you were there too."

"Now mum, why would you have sent Dave an invitation for the wedding and dragged him clear across the solar system just to slam the door in his face?"

"For exactly that reason – to slam the door in his face."

"Mum…" he warned, trying to sound as stern as one could with their lips poking though a letter box.

"Alright, if you really want this." There were some sounds of chains rattling, bolts unlocking, a dog growling, and then finally the door opened. "Come in Arnold, David."

Lister gulped. Mrs. Rimmer stood, still defiant with a mop in one hand and a lead belonging to an Alsatian in the other. "It's okay Snuggleface," Mrs. Rimmer cooed to the snarling hound. "No biting today." Lister swore later to Rimmer that the dog had looked disappointed.

"When did you get a dog?" Rimmer asked, as the dog snuffled at his legs.

"Crichton? We got him a few months ago. He's a retired police officer, yes he is. Who's a boo? Who's a boo-faced shnookums?" she cooed at the happy pooch. The dog's wagging tail created dents in Rimmer's right leg and Lister's left leg as it fiercely swung from one to the other.

"He's… cute," Rimmer finally managed. Lister gazed warily back at the tree, thinking of the poor tiny black cat that would be a mere _hors d'oeuvres_ to Crichton.


	3. Chapter 3

**Betcha thought I'd leave you hanging like with my other fanfictions. Well, I have rewarded your endless patience with TWO chapters. Well hurrah with brass knobs on!

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Bundled together in the taxi-shuttle, Lister felt that he could cut the tension with a knife. He was pretty sure he could spread it onto toast too. Rimmer sat to his left, nervously playing with his seatbelt. Mrs. Rimmer sat directly opposite him; her lips pursed together like an old-fashioned schoolteacher, petting Crichton's head as he yawned. John sat to her right trying to ooze serenity in the hopes that it would permeate and dissipate the apprehension. He was not having much luck.

"So…" Lister began the conversation. "You're having the wedding party tonight? Bit odd, if you don't mind me sayin' that."

"Not at all," John grinned genially, "it _is_ odd. We just decided to have the party the night before the wedding because we'll be running straight off for the honeymoon tomorrow evening."

"Yeah but that means we can't have a total piss-up tonight!"

Rimmer mumbled something about alcoholics.

John smiled understandingly at Lister. "Don't worry Dave. You lot can have a piss-up tomorrow evening. The hotel is booked all weekend."

"Awesome," Lister sighed – greatly relieved.

"Is drinking all you think about?" Rimmer snapped.

"Hey, don't diss alcohol. It led me to _you_, don't forget."

Rimmer smiled slightly at this, though he could not hold it for long under the heated gaze of his mother. He decided to change the subject. "Is everyone already at the hotel?"

"Some people," said John. "Janine and Frank are greeting the guests, Howard said he'd-"

"Janine?" Rimmer's head shot up.

John nodded. "Well, yeah. Of course I'd invite my sister-in-law to my wedding, Bonehead."

Rimmer slunk back into his seat, fiddling with his seatbelt with nimble dexterity and Lister couldn't help a feeling of miserable foreboding looming over the atmosphere once again.

***

Lister wolf-whistled admiringly at the hotel as the taxi-shuttle pulled up. "Bet that cost a pretty pennycent."

"Nothing's too good for my wedding. Especially when Cassandra's parents are paying for everything," John replied, smirking casually.

"Brutal," said Lister, almost skipping out of the door in eagerness. "Oh hey. Arn… I meant to ask you something."

"I'm quite sure it's an open bar."

"No that's not – wow, really?" Lister exclaimed, becoming sidetracked by his daydreams of free beers and spirits. Rimmer sighed and went over to his mother, drawn by the sound of her loudly arguing over the taxi fare. "Arnold," she grunted as he neared. "Explain to this gentleman that I never agreed to pay an extra tenner."

"The kid in the leather jacket said I'd get an extra tenner, ma'am."

Rimmer and his mother gave eerily similar glares towards Lister, who waved sheepishly.

"Do we dare ask?" Mrs. Rimmer called to him.

"I don't think you do dare," Rimmer sighed again, paying the money. In return, the driver pushed a box into his arms. Rimmer glanced inside and glared at Lister again.

"What is it?" Mrs. Rimmer inquired.

"N-nothing…" Rimmer marched back to Lister, leaving his mother furiously agape. Lister tried to find a convenient hiding place in time, to no avail. "You brought the _cat_?" Rimmer hissed as he approached.

"She's preggers, mate. I couldn't leave her swimming about the house all alone." Lister knew there was no point in explaining. Rimmer would only be angry for about five minutes, until Lister did something else and then he would be angry from that instead. It was an organic process… of sorts.

Rimmer shoved the box at Lister, grumbling about getting it to their room as soon as possible. Lister concurred and they began to follow the bellboy up to the hotel. Rimmer's breath stuck in his throat when he saw who was greeting the guests at the hotel entrance. 22 years of ex-model perfection stood, smiling and kissing everyone who walked past, asking how they were and being asked in return.

"Janine…" he said softly, crumbling the moment her eyes moved onto him. Her smile broadened and she seemed to float towards him in slow motion. Of course the reality was what Lister saw, and that was a crazy French girl galloping by and throwing herself onto his boyfriend.

"Ahnald! How good it is to see you!" she cooed, kissing him on both cheeks, presumably unaware that he was melting in her embrace. "And zis is Daveed? Oh, he's so cute!"

"Nefur… meneh…" Rimmer gibbered in her arms.

Lister nodded and allowed her enthusiastic French greeting to transfer to his own cheeks. "You're their sister-in-law Janine, then? Your English is very good."

"Silly! I speak several languages fluently. I work as a translator within ze Space Corps. It is how Frank and I met. I merely keep zis outrageous aksent because it makes ze men go gooey. You see?" she nodded towards Rimmer, who appeared to be having difficulty standing up.

"Yeah, I see," Lister frowned.

"Now zen, you two go inside and mingle. Nearly everyone is 'ere already." Janine ushered them through the doors and left them stranded in the hallway with no idea as to where they were going; Lister as always being clueless and Rimmer suddenly mindless.

"Earth to Arnold?" said Lister, waving his hands in front of Rimmer's face.

"Not on Earth… On Io…" he mumbled dreamily. Lister adjusted the insanely awkward box in his arms and went to get their room key, moodily.

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Author notes:**_

_**First of all, for those of you who are thinking 'oh no female rival, where did I put my gun?' I just need to say DON'T PANIC (in large friendly letters). I feel I must explain Janine's presence. The writers made a pretty big deal of Janine, in both the series and books. She's mentioned several times in the show and Rimmer's wife in Better Than Life is a blatant parody of her, which even he admits. But judge not, this is an angst-free zone. I don't want to give much away but Rimmer will not fawn over her for long. I just felt it would be highly unrealistic for to have been omginluff with her for a few years and then just be 'ohai' just because he's finally found someone to ride his gigglestick. It's difficult to cut off that kind of emotion, especially for an arsehat like Rimmer.**_

_**Also I couldn't remember how old Janine was in the books. All I remember is that she was a model and married Frank at 19. I'll grab my books over the summer and correct this fanfiction several times over most likely.**_

_**Outrageous accent = obligatory Monty Python quote. You must know me by now!**_

_**Crichton = Kryten, Frankenstein = Cat. In name only. I feel quite bad that I tend to leave them out of my slash, but they kind of get in the way. I hate writing a big scene and then end up thinking "Oh wait, where are those guys going to be?"**_

_**Oh and did I forget to mention that you lucky bugs get two chapters for the price of one update? So why are you reading my blithering witticisms? Go go! Click next chapter!**_


	4. Chapter 4

Lister tapped his shoes against the floor, feeling extremely comfortable in his suit. Rimmer had begged, demanded and bullied Lister into smartening up for the occasion. He'd obliged, of course. It didn't mean that he was happy with the situation, and he was determined to let Rimmer be aware of his misery. Typically, as is often the way in life, Lister hadn't been able to find Rimmer since his brothers had dragged him away for what they would only refer to as a 'mini-stag prank'. So Lister had been left to mull about with the few guests that had arrived in the reception room early.

"Fun gathering, hmm?" said one sat next to him.

"Yeah," Lister answered, wishing the other guests would leave him alone.

"So, the old boy's getting married, eh? Can you believe it? He was such a ladies' man at one time. But it happens to the best of 'em. It's such a shame his father can't be here to enjoy this day. Taken from us so young, he was! He was so full of energy, of life – old Jackie. He always loved a good party. Shame he can't be here."

Lister blinked a few times. "Mr. Rimmer – you _are_ here."

"Am I? Very well - wheel me in the direction of the cake!" he cried, furiously pushing his wheels. Lister watched for a moment, before being kind enough to let off the brakes. Mr. Rimmer was soon across the room running over as many people's feet as he could manage.

"Dave!"

Lister turned and was relieved to finally see Rimmer. "Where you bin, man? What was the prank?"

"I'd rather not say. Let's just say it involved a ferret, a marrow, a copy of 'Heat' magazine and a small pencil topper in the shape of the Statue of Liberty."

Lister gaped at him. "What was the ferret for?"

Rimmer waved his hand. "Don't worry, there's no need to call the R.S.C.P.A. Charlie was merely a voyeur."

"Well, so long as you had a good time."

"I did, actually. It was rather refreshing to be on the other side of one of my brothers' tricks. How're things here?"

"Bore-ring" Lister groaned, grabbing them both a glass of champagne from a passing waiter. "I have no smegging idea who any of these people are. I only know they're related to you because all the blokes look like they have a golf ball stuck in their throats."

Rimmer suddenly turned to face Lister, pretending to admire the decorations on the table. "Oh god, it's Uncle Frank," Rimmer groaned into his champagne glass.

"Where?" said Lister, pretending to be interested in the glittered objects as well.

"Over there with his daughters, Sarah and Alice."

"Oh. Hey, are they the ones that you wanted to..."

"Yes."

"But your Uncle Frank..."

"Yes."

"Because he thought you were..."

"YES. Drop it, David."

Lister complied, his face distorting as he tried not to laugh, finally resulting in a deranged snorting sound as he burst into fits. Rimmer twirled a fork in his hand, contemplating sticking it somewhere fleshy on Lister's body.

"He looks nothing like your father, you know," Lister finally said, wiping tears from his eyes. "Looks a lot like your brothers though."

"What are you implying?"

"Oh nothing, nothing. I mean looks _can_ skip a generation. Sometimes they even hop to the side."

Rimmer frowned at the implication but said nothing. After all, it was suspected throughout the family that Uncle Frank was enamoured with his mother. Whether or not she had ever complied… Rimmer didn't like to think about it.

"ARNOLD!" a voice boomed from behind them, and Rimmer turned around like a man about to face walking the Green Mile. Lister followed his example and was met by a bright and exuberant Uncle Frank.

"You must be the new beau!" he hollered at Lister, shaking his hand firmly. "So who wears the trousers in this relationship? Only joking, lads! Good to see Arnie-boy settled, even if it's with a bloke. Not that there's anything wrong with that! Plenty of you lot in the Space Corps. We've got one in my old division called Mike. Biggest whoopsie in the world. Could make Graham Norton look like Chuck Norris. Do you know him? No of course not, that's stupid. Thinking you all know each other. Though you might. He went to a school in Hertfordshire. Can't remember his surname for the life of me. Possibly Baxter."

"Uncle Frank."

"Hmm?"

"Stop talking."

"Oh, right-ho, Arnie-boy. Sorry. Got a bit over-excited there. How are you, my lad?"

Rimmer shrugged nonchalantly. Lister answered for him, "We're great, Mr. Rimmer."

Uncle Frank clapped Lister on the back fiercely, "My goodness me, lad – you'll call me Uncle Frank like the other girls do. Not that you're a girl, of course. You're another boy, I just mean as the opposite to _the_ boys. 'The boys' are 'the boys' you see. Perhaps I should call them 'the nephews' and you 'the boy'…"

"Uncle Frank…" Rimmer warned again.

"Sorry. Shutting up. Quiet as a mouse. Won't hear from me again," he said, flashing them a dazzling smile. And then just as suddenly as he had appeared, he pointed away from them and yelled a relative's name that sounded something like 'Drippy Martin' to Lister's ears, before marching over to them arms outstretched for a warm welcome, in spite of the way they were obviously trying to scuttle away from him.

Rimmer exhaled deeply and gestured quite camply. "My Uncle Frank. Charming man."

"He's, um, memorable, that's for sure. Hey! For a joke maybe I should've told him neither of us wore the trousers in the relationship. Just rainbow thongs. "

"Don't!" Rimmer exclaimed, horrified. "He'd believe you and it'd be around half the Space Corps. by Monday."

"Wow, does everyone in your family work in the Space Corps.?"

"Pretty much." Rimmer downed the last of the champagne. "It's like a family trait."

"Like the huge Adam's apples?"

"Beauty is in the eye of the beholder, Dave," Rimmer said, then jumped as Lister's arm thread around his waist. "What are you doing?"

"I be-holding my beauty."

"One, that is a terrible pun, and two, not _here_!" Rimmer growled, pushing him away gently. Lister leant against the table, sulking silently, hoping Rimmer's attitude was due to his anger about Frankenstein's unexpected appearance earlier.

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_**Authors notes:**_

_**For anyone who nearly had a heart attack thinking Mr. Rimmer was dead, I apologise. However, if you're a huge Mr. Rimmer fan then I have to admit, he's not in this fanfiction an awful lot. Not… really anyway *trying not to give away much* But I promise you'll love him dearly by the end. Well, maybe just like. A little.**_

_**Jack Rimmer – It's a common thing in families to name your eldest son after their father and any following boys after their uncles. So it made sense to me that if Rimmer had a second eldest brother named Frank, then the eldest would be named after their father – aka Jonathan. 'Jack' is a nickname for Jonathan. Hence Jack Rimmer (who, let's be honest, sounds even more of a porn star than Ace did)**_

_**In regards to Uncle Frank (seriously guys, could you have had a character NOT named Frank?) I've always had a secret theory about Rimmer's past. I think Uncle Frank was his hero as a child. I always got an 'Ace' vibe about him. So imagine your hero clambering into your bed in the middle of the night and kissing you, leaving you highly confused for the rest of your puberty. I know that whole scene is played for laughs, but I find it quite a saddening moment in Chibi-Rimmer's life. I'm sorry if I've ruined that scene for anyone else. But I can ruin more!**_

_**No animals were harmed in the making of this chapter, though one ferret may be in therapy for a while.**_


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